


The Ballad of Saint Peter and the Devil

by Grondfic



Category: 'Tomlinson' - Rudyard Kipling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:33:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grondfic/pseuds/Grondfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the brief visits of <i>Tomlinson</i> to both heaven and hell (as recounted by Kipling here - http://grondfic.livejournal.com/37120.html#cutid1), the Devil visits St Peter at the Pearly Gates to make a complaint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Saint Peter and the Devil

_Oh Heav'n be Heav'n and Hell be Hell, and never the twain shall meet,_  
_Lest Devil and Saint become acquaint in some forgotten street;_  
_And learn that neither one of Them has more or less of grace,_  
_But serve, the both, to keep Mankind in his Appointed Place._

* * * *

The tattered soul of Tomlinson fell upward and grew faint,  
And the Devil came out before his bars to make a strict complaint.  
The wind that blows between the worlds it troubled him not at all;  
Like fire he flew the Cosmos through to Heaven's very Wall.

Saint Peter held his Massive Key foursquare before the Gate.  
“Before you ask, The Boss won’t see you, be it soon or late!  
The Standing Orders are quite clear: from Paradise you fell,  
And – till He come to fetch you thence - you must remain in Hell!”

“But yet I do the work o’ Grace, and winnow sinful souls.  
I thresh them lean, sinless and clean across my searing coals.  
‘T’is on The Word from Highest Heav’n that I hold them in quod;  
And so The Fiend might thus be deemed The Good Left-Hand of God!”

“Your Gnostic rant is merely cant!” St Peter cried in haste,  
“Good lack! The Boss - the One First Mover - cannot be replaced!”  
The Devil he tapped his pitch-fork teeth with arrow-pointed tail,  
“You won’t unbend; I’ll not contend, for clearly I would fail! ….

But hear ye now my just complaint, and pass it to On-High!  
The current crop of feeble souls do nought before they die!  
There’s insufficient evidence to either damn or save.  
I had to send the last one back before he went to grave!”

The icy glaze of combat melted from St Peter’s eye.  
The holy man responded thus to Auld Nick’s heartfelt cry -  
“Sit down upon this pile of pearls that fell from Heaven’s Gate,  
And ye shall tell me all your woes, then mine I shall relate!”

The Devil reclined upon the pearls (he’d purloined quite a few).  
“My woes are great, I’d not expect such travails come on you!  
You keep the Keys, you don’t receive such disrespect from folk!  
Whilst timid, houseless souls come down, and scorn me, as a joke!”

St Peter’s tender heart was wrung; he made a soothing sound,  
Then came and sat beside The Fiend upon the Pearly Mound:  
“Good souls are far and few,” he said, “And some of those are cheats!  
“Like homing doves!”? They more resemble feral parakeets …..”

The Devil he pursed his rosy lips and gave a charming moue.  
“These surplus souls ye cart them off; they come to me from you!”  
He sniffed, then said – “Forgive my ire, I’m poorly in the head!  
I’ve been a boor, my horns are sore; they’re budding after Shed!”

St Peter’s heart was wrung anew; he leaned across the pearls  
And stroked the tender, new-come horns amongst the Devil’s curls.  
He scratched, with careful fingertips, the base whence sprung each tine,  
As a husbandman might soothe a kid, or calm the fretful kine.

The Devil’s breath grew ragged, and he lisped a broken phrase.  
He closed his flutt’ring eyelids down; he seemed all in a daze.  
“ ‘T’is aeons gone since anyone has handled me!” quoth he,  
“My bad repute becomes the root of all avoiding me!”

St Peter laid a fleeting hand upon the Devil’s brow;  
Who, free of guile did sweetly smile; and did not disallow.  
And thus it crossed St Peter’s mind - the Devil might be saved!  
This work a Saint might undertake, and not become depraved.

 _It is the task of every Saint to love their Enemy,_  
_And – given due repentance – he quite loveable might be!_  
_He could be brought_ : St Peter thought: _to join our heavenly revel._  
_With ebon hooves and vulture-wings, he is a handsome Devil!_

He stroked awhile in silence, never thinking any guile.  
The Devil heard his thoughts, and gave a small, contented smile.  
St Peter pondered randomly; Auld Nick in bliss did bask.  
“Your pardon,” quoth St Peter then, “There’s a question I would ask!”

The Devil he winked The Other Eye (as only Devils can),  
As he remembered that the Saint was once a Sinful Man –  
Who, like all Sons of Eve, possessed a quick and curious mind.  
_‘T’was ever thus!_ : The Devil mused: _A snare for all Mankind!_

“Please ask away!” he thus replied. St Peter, turning pink –  
Coughed once or twice, then cleared his throat; “I hear that some folks think …..  
Though others tell it differently .. (ye ken how Rumour starts) ..  
So is it true, as these folks say – Auld Nick lacks Private Parts?”

The Devil seemed quite horrified – “Now what is this I hear?”  
From out his ruby eye there fell one perfect ruby tear.  
“I’m all o’er sib to Adam’s breed that they spread calumny!  
If ye’ll agree to show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” quoth he.

“That’s fair enough!” St Peter cried, in wanton heedlessness,  
“What Men conceal, we will reveal! Lord, our endeavours bless!  
‘T’is thus we find if ye’re maligned!” then – filled with righteous wrath –  
Foursquare he stood before the Gate, and threw his nightie off!

“It’s Losh and Tush and eke Good Lack!” the Devil did exclaim,  
“Your staff’s displayed (so largely made) without a sign of shame!  
So now must I the truth reveal, what lies betwixt my thighs.  
‘T’is scare I dare myself compare to such a monstrous size!”

The Devil he stood, and thus exposed his thighs to Peter’s view;  
And he began to draw aside the pelt thereon that grew.  
But ere the De’il might all reveal; and plunge him in Corruption,  
By heavenly grace, unto that place, there came an interruption!

As long-haired comet from on high, Archangel Mikäel  
Dropped like a rushing meteor; like stooping hawk he fell.  
Puissant and High Commander he, of the Angelic Horde,  
He trod the sky as eagles fly, and looked like a Flaming Sword,

“Unhand the Pearly Gatekeeper!" The Angel’s belling tone –  
It made the Gate reverberate, and caused Auld Nick to groan.  
“And you – Strong Rock of Christendom – how easily you fall  
For such a hoary jape as that, outside of Heaven’s Wall!”

St Peter fell upon the pearls, his Sainthood quite deflated.  
The Hellish trick played by Auld Nick at last had penetrated.  
“I truly thought you cared a bit!” he cried in grief and pain,  
“I thought that you some heav’nly grace, and I a friend might gain!”

“We Angels fitter are than Saints the Devil to withstand!  
His lures we ever recognise, his tricks we understand!”  
Said Mikäel, a trifle smug. St Peter wept anew.  
“I take my oath,” the Devil cried, “I really fell for you!”

The Archangel he seized and broke the Devil’s vulture wing.  
He raised The Fiend above his head, and outwards did him fling.  
“You lying rat! You’ll pay for that from now till Judgement Day!”  
To regions dim from Heaven’s rim, he sent him on his way.

Hoof over horn, the Fiend, forlorn, went burning down the sky.  
From Abyss drear they faint did hear his last depairing cry -  
“He’s jealous that I am well fit to do the work of Venus!  
Unlike us Imps, the Seraphim they simply lack a  
P>>>.....................>>e>> ................................>>n>>.................>>is>>>................................................................... ** >>!*!*****

St Peter sate before his Gate; in absentminded woe –  
He let some evil souls inside that should have gone Below.  
Likewise he sent (on grief intent) some good souls (truth to tell)  
To view that belt of naughty stars that rim the mouth of Hell.

It wasn’t long (as these things go) before he was aware  
Of several tattered, saintly souls returning through the air.  
Reproachfully they handed him a dirty parchment-roll –  
_“Dear Saint – ensure you compensate each worthy, misplaced soul!_

_It’s not like you to be so slack, pray what is on your mind?_  
_Oh, can it be you’re missing me, since I left you behind?_  
_Then you must come and visit me, our bargain’s not complete._  
_If ye haste thus to Erebus. I’ll show you mine, Dear Pete!”_

* * * *

_Though Heav’n be Heav’n and Hell be Hell, and never the twain shall join,_  
_Yet Devil and Saint be close acquaint, like two sides of one coin._  
_Thus might they meet at Heaven’s Gate, or tumble Hell-for-leather._  
_To judge Mankind, they are inclined at last to come together!_


End file.
